


Unspeakable

by breatheforeverypart



Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ASL, American Sign Language, Bad Days, Blood and Gore, C-PTSD, Deaf Character, Deep pressure, Derealization, Disordered Eating, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Torture, Selectively mute, Self Harm, Sexual Abuse, Spoon Theory, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, emotional flashbacks, nothing graphic but it's from real experiences, service dog, the reality of living with PTSD, trauma issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: Today is a bad day.  Little things go wrong and Bucky struggles to navigate emotional flashbacks.  He isn't sure what's triggering him and Watson does his best along with the rest of the Avengers to help their friend.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Team as Family - Relationship
Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758628
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Unspeakable

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! As always, my stories in this series are heavily influenced by my own personal experiences as someone who lives with C-PTSD and is 50% of a working service dog team. Anecdotes about Watson stem from my real life canine partner. Again, these are my own experiences and are not meant to represent symptoms of trauma disorders. 
> 
> Please feel free to reach out to me here with any comments or concerns. I really do appreciate any and all feedback, although I am generally awful at responding in a timely manner. Thank you!

***

How are you?

Anything you want to talk about?

What’s wrong?

What can I do to fix it?

If one more person asked him a question, Bucky was going to put a fist through another wall in the Common Room. His brain ruminated on the argument that had led to the property damage. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was like picking an itchy scab, the act would lead nowhere good, but his eyes still found the leafy plant doing a terrible job at hiding the first hole he’d punched into the drywall. He shook his head and groaned. Today was not going well. 

Watson pawed at his knee, looking at him expectantly. He scratched the dog’s head and considered his next move. Bucky hated being watched. The entire Tower felt tense, he was wound so tight he felt like he could explode. 

He was sitting on the monstrous couch. A breeze blew in from the open terrace. His knee was now being licked by his canine partner in health. Bucky focused on the feel of Watson’s tongue, a half-hearted attempt at grounding. 

Bucky felt his human partner staring at him. He couldn’t stomach the pity and concern the oozed from everyone in the Tower. Not today. He didn’t deserve their attention. His face heated with embarrassment as he recalled the day’s events. 

A quick glance to his left confirmed that Steve still sat under an umbrella in an Adirondack chair. He failed miserably at looking casual. He had none of Natasha’s grace. Stevie held a book in hand, but had not turned the page in at least an hour. He would be a terrible spy. Rogers could not blend into a crowd to save his life. 

The morning had not been terrible. Bucky blew out a breath and closed his eyes. He recalled Steve’s hand finding the waistband of his pajamas. In sleep, it was an intimate and sweet gesture. 

Why did it make he feel dirty and scared? Bucky’s heart quickened. Yes, he did know why the thought of sex triggered fear. Thoughts bombarded him. He held his breath and dug his nails into his thighs. Watson scrambled into his lap, stretching to reach Bucky’s face. 

Hot dog breath grounded him. He attempted to refocus his brain. He could apologize and explain what had happen to Steve. His partner loved him. He would probably understand. Another barrage of thoughts descended. Bucky twisted his hands in Watson’s fur. Would Stevie blame himself? It wasn’t his fault. Bucky was the broken one. He’s the one who needed to fix it

Watson licked his wrist. Bucky released his grip on the limb as his canine partner licked the red welts. 

***

Watson lifted his head from Bucky’s lap when Wilson exited the elevator. His tail wagged in greeting, but the dog made no effort to leave his partner’s side. 

“One of you is gonna bake with me.” Sam waved a tablet. “I’ve got a new recipe to try.” 

Bucky glared at him. He manipulated the putty and shook his head. Words were not a possibility today. 

The younger man acknowledged Bucky’s answer with a brief nod. “Cap, on your feet.” Sam beckoned the older Avenger inside. 

“But.” Steve protested. 

Wilson tucked the slim device under his arm. “I know damn well you haven’t read more than a page of that depressing book.” 

“You don’t know that.” Steve argued weakly. “It could be a romance novel. Or a fairy tale.” 

“The original fairy tales are scary as all heck. They’ll give you nightmares.” Sam tossed him an apron. “You can tell me what you’re pretending to read as we bake.” 

Steve extracted himself from the oversized chair and set the book on the table. “Fine. What are we making?” 

“Vegan cinnamon rolls. I figured Banner could use a treat.” 

Watson tracked Steve and Sam’s movements until they reached the kitchen. They opened cabinets, retrieved ingredients and starting making a floury mess. The dog sighed as the butter was set on the counter. Bucky tugged his collar gently, and Watson settled back into the couch. 

Butter seemed be his only weakness. Kate had apologized dozens of times for what she lovingly referred to as the ‘Easter Epiphany’. While on a board and train trip and a Service Dog in Training, Watson had snuck into the Bishop’s dining room and snarfed down an entire stick of butter. He could not resist the stuff. He took every opportunity while not in harness to try to sneak a lick at the oily substance. Hell, he even licked the air that surrounded a good waffle or piece of toast. 

Bucky squished the putty into the container. Watson stretched onto his side, keeping his head in Bucky’s lap. He drifted, losing time and the ability to identify emotions. It was one of those days. 

***

Natasha waved. Bucky flinched, dropping his phone. The Red Room had made her silent as a cat and it scared the shit out of him. 

She pointed to the empty space on the couch. “Okay or not okay?” 

Bucky shrugged. Non-answers felt safer on bad days. Natasha knew this, but probably would not let him weasel out of making a choice. She was the only person on the planet who could force him to choose on a bad day. Even Steve lacked that ability. 

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms. If he continued to delay, Bucky suspected that she would start tapping her foot in feigned annoyance. 

Damn her. Bucky made himself nod. He didn’t have the energy for this. His brain was snarled in barbed intrusive thoughts and a fog of generalized doom. His hands found Watson’s fur and he pet the dog compulsively. The repetitive action soothed him. That’s why Natasha had been slowly stockpiling fidget gadgets and sensory items. Every commonly accessed room at the Tower now had a basket that held a variety of fidgets. Apparently, he was not the only resident who benefited from these interventions. 

Natasha tossed him a textured fidget and curled up on the opposite end of the large sofa. 

“I’m calling Clint.” The tones of a FaceTime call ratcheted Bucky’s blood pressure up enough that Watson stirred from his nap. He yawned and inadvertently pawed at Bucky’s arm. 

He moved to sooth the dog with scratches behind his ear as the chaos of the Barton home erupted from the phone. 

“Hey. Hang on guys.” Clint half-shouted. “I’m heading to the porch.” The storm door whooshed closed. 

Natasha started the conversation. Bucky listened, fading in and out of the moment. The squeaking of the swing caught his attention. Clint’s snort of laughter caused Watson to look around the room for the man. 

Eventually Natasha winds up leaned against him, her phone balanced on her bent knees. She keeps him out of the frame, save for a bit of his shaggy hair. “James?” She asks. 

He looks at her blankly. “Sorry.” He signs. His jaw shreds the inside of his cheeks. The sharp discomfort grounds him in a way he can’t explain using language. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, her voice quiet as she signs the question one-handed. Clint asks to be turned so Bucky can see him sign. 

He signs a question. The same question that people keep asking him. They use different words, but it’s all the same. Bucky doesn’t have an answer. He will never be able to explain himself. He’s beyond help, Bucky feels hopeless. Frustration clenches his hands into fists. He pounds them against his legs. 

Natasha’s hold on the camera wobbles and he catches a glimpse of his own face in the feed. The eyes in the reflection are wild, they belong to Soldat. His body flushes with shame and ire. He doesn’t know why, but he’s on his feet. 

Watson glues himself to Bucky’s side in a tight heel. His warm head presses against the man’s thigh. 

***

He walks. The leash crosses his chest in a large loop. Watson walks comfortably at his side. They complete another lap on the indoor track. Bucky glances at the camera near the elevator. He debates waving to whoever is monitoring the feed. 

His feet continue walking on the springy track. He is having trouble following the audiobook that Sam recommended. Bucky extracts an earbud and pockets it. His shoulders drop by an inch once he can pick up background noise. Some days he needs to block out the world and immerse himself in a book, music or an episode of a podcast. Other days, he needs to stand with his back to a wall. He needs to listen to JARVIS report security logs and note camera feeds from the Tower. Steve says it’s normal. Bucky knows that he is anything, but normal. 

Watson tugs at the lead and Bucky notes the square of grass just past the first bend in the track. He stops and savors the burn of muscles in his legs. “Bathroom?” He signs to Watson. 

The dog looks at the grass and sniffs. While Watson scouts the perfect spot to pee, Bucky opens his phone and locates the podcasts. 

Nothing is holding his attention. He scrolls through the un-played episodes. Nothing. He subscribes to dozens of podcasts. On good days, he likes learning. He absorbs information like a sponge. Stevie teases him for it, but Bucky likes having people to listen to. It keeps the berating critical voices that stem from his own fucked up life at bay. 

He tries music next. Just as he’s debating Avenged Sevenfold, the elevator dings. He tenses and is vaguely aware of Watson nosing his palm. 

Daredevil saunters onto the gym floor. He folds his guide cane, tucks it into a duffel bag and calls out a familiar name. He’s not wearing his costume and looks as uncomfortable as Bucky feels. 

His first instinct is to run. Guilt slams into Bucky so hard that he is left breathless. He drops to his knees and the remaining earbud falls to the track. 

Watson is between his hands, blocking his attempts at self-harm. A teenager’s feet skim the mat as he swings on a web towards the elevators. Not a threat, Bucky repeats. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is hanging out with the Spider-boy from Queens. He knows this. 

As the blood ceases pounding, Bucky is able to hear snippets of their conversation. When he is able to open his, Bucky is laying on his back. 

“He’s okay. Nat told me she’s watching.” Watson is on top of his chest, tasking to alleviate Bucky’s panic. 

He grimaces as he processes the kid’s words. Of course, she was watching. An impulse to flash her several rude gestures made his hand twitch. 

***

He’s walking back from the gym, torturing himself on the unending staircase when he literally runs into Bruce. 

The man is tinged greenish-grey. His glasses are askew and sliding down his nose. 

Bucky feels the heat of anger rolling off him in waves. Everything about the Hulk screams ‘threat’. 

Watson blocks and leans against his legs without being asked. Bucky grips the handle of the harness and makes the choice to stay. 

They make their way to the Zen Den. Tony constructed it with his partner’s input to withstand the Big Guy’s strength. The room itself oozes hipster, organic, vegetation clean-living. Watson sniffs at the essential oils before laying down at Bucky’s feet. He carefully crosses his legs on an un-rolled yoga mat. 

Banner asks if it’s okay to talk. He speaks softly and trembles. Bucky sends Watson over with a pouch of grounding tools. The scientist chooses a couple sensory squeezes and offers him a smile. 

Therapy day. That’s what’s got the mild-mannered scientist all twisted in knots. 

He usually untwists himself with yoga. He was spiraling out of control when he nearly collided with Bucky and Watson. 

Bucky doesn’t ‘yoga’. He doesn’t meditate. Watson tries to eat the yoga mat. On one memorable occasion he tried to hump Natasha when she was posed in a down-dog stretch. He had also gotten stuck in Bucky’s shirt when he was experimenting with the cat-cow sequence. He types these anecdotes on his phone and shares them with Bruce. 

Helping a teammate feels alright. Watson relaxes, stretching so intensely in his own canine down-dog that he rips a long fart right in Bucky’s face. 

Bruce laughs. 

Bucky cracks a smile. 

Perhaps the day isn’t a total loss. 

***

A cloud of confectioner’s sugar is creeping towards the Common Room as the pair make their way to the couch. 

The scent of cinnamon hangs in the air and Bucky is almost hungry. Almost. He salivates and nearly chokes. The thought of swallowing brings back the impulse to put his head through the wall. Bucky folds the leash and lays it on an end table. 

He risks a look at the kitchen and attempts to smile at Steve. He probably looks crazy, but it’s the most he can manage at the moment. Watson threads himself through his open legs before galloping to his favorite person. 

Natasha greets Watson warmly, removing his martingale collar and working harness. Bucky collapses and stares at his shoes, but makes no effort to remove them. Not only is his energy depleted, but he can’t manufacture the Spoons to care about the shoes. 

Natasha knows this and wordlessly tugs them off. She pulls a pillow to her lap and wait for Bucky to process her offer. He does not remember laying down, but he feels safe enough to let the walls crumble. 

Time passes and Bucky rides the wave after wave of emotional flashbacks. Tears fall, along with urges to tear at his skin. He hunches his shoulders and curls in on himself, weathering the storm of flashbacks to the best of his ability. 

She strokes his hair and talks quietly. Watson is curled against the bend in his knees. His even breathing reminds Bucky to slow his own inhalations. The socked feet served as a pillow for Watson’s head. This is as much a comfort to Bucky as Natasha’s acceptance of the day. 

Later he would find a way to communicate with Steve. He opened their text conversation and started a new message. The cursor blinked as he experimented with words. He resisted the urge to start with ‘I’m sorry.’. Could he count that as progress? 

He could ask Natasha how she managed to survive on the bad days. She stayed, even when he resisted her help and said terrible things. Maybe he did belong here at the Tower. Watson shifted in his sleep and wriggled closer to Bucky. He was needed and loved by one, two, maybe three or more lifeforms. Stevie and Wilson watched his back from the kitchen. 

He might not be able to stomach that thought in an hour, but for now Bucky believed it could be true.


End file.
